


You taste like birthday

by lavishsqualor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's Birthday, Fisting, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 01:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavishsqualor/pseuds/lavishsqualor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is something they saved for special occasions or for when Sam was feeling particularly possessive. Today appeared to fit both those criteria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You taste like birthday

They didn’t often do this in here. 

When the time came, they didn’t usually make it to either of their bedrooms; rather, they’d end up spread across each other wherever they were already at – the counter in the bunker’s kitchen, against the bathroom wall, or sometimes Sam would cover Dean’s back and lean him over one of the tables in the library. Dean had to admit, he was particularly fond of that position. And when they did actually fuck in a bed, nine and a half times out of ten it was Sam’s, either deep into a tv-binge session or after Dean crawled in during the middle of the night, when he couldn’t stand the space and the walls between them anymore.

Now, though, with the memory foam beneath his knees, Dean realized their error. Well, he thought, he’d just have to get Sam’s ass in his room more often.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. “Open wider.”

Dean slid his legs apart a couple more inches, and he’d already thought he was spread as far as he could go. Always willing to try harder for Sammy, though.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy.”

Dean could feel the flush already across his chest spread higher, inching up his neck and into his cheeks. He ducked his head down further, slung low between his shoulders. It was pointless, he knew, since Sam couldn’t see his face from where he was perched behind Dean, but he couldn’t help but at least try to hide the way Sam’s praises got to him. They always had.

Sam started up again with his tongue, moving his mouth down the crack of Dean’s ass, and his stubble itched, burned, but it was Dean’s second favorite kind of burn, and so he really didn’t mind. He trailed his tongue between Dean’s cheeks, teasingly light, maddeningly soft and slow, but once he found Dean’s hole, he firmed up and prodded gently forward. 

“Ungh,” Dean cried out. He didn’t even mean to, he just couldn’t keep it in. Sam’s fucking tongue, it felt so good.

Firm little pushes, a few at a time and then a swirl around the rim. Sam knew exactly how Dean liked this, knew exactly how to get to Dean’s very core, how to break him down to nothing. He pulled back and kissed at Dean’s ass, sucking on his hole hard, before diving back in. 

“Sam. Sammy, more. Please.”

Sam relented, finally, releasing one cheek and sliding his palm across Dean’s ass, scratching his nails across sensitive skin on his way back. Dean felt Sam’s finger breach him alongside his tongue, sinking deep to the second knuckle, licking around it and then going deeper, all the way in. Dean arched his back further up off the bed, keened when Sam pulled out. Not a second passed, no hesitation, and then Sam was pumping in with two fingers. A few thrusts and then he scissored them, jammed his tongue in deep between and swirled it around, sloppy and so wet. Dean could feel Sam’s spit trailing down the inside of his thighs.

“Messy as a fucking girl, Dean,” Sam said as he pulled out. “Love you like this. Love getting you all dirty.”

Fuck, Sam is the dirty one. Dean had never suspected it, hadn’t had a clue, but the first time Sam got him into bed, he’d learned it quickly. Sam had a filthy fucking mouth, probably the dirtiest Dean had ever come across. And Dean loved it, loved knowing what Sam was thinking, what he wanted, how Dean was making him feel.

“Gonna fuck you open with my hand, okay?” Sam asked, and Dean nodded, urgently. 

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean replied. “Your whole hand, fuck. Yes, I want it.”

“Know you do,” Sam said, and Dean heard the cap of the lube snick shut. When Sam’s hand returned, his grip on Dean’s hip went even tighter.

Sam skipped the third finger and went straight for four, spearing Dean, opening him wide. He twisted them slowly, so slowly, one way and then the other. He hummed as he slid his fingers out and squirted more lube across them, then murmured, “So good, Dean, so good,” as he slid back in.

“Fuck, Sam. Give me more, would you?” 

Sam didn’t hesitate, just thrust his fingers in hard, deep, and harder again, as deep as he could, nothing stopping him but his outstretched thumb. He fucked into Dean with his hand over and over again, and Dean couldn’t hold himself up anymore, dropped down further, leaning his head on his forearms, his mouth open and panting, breath coming fast and hot.

Dean was loving it, all of it – Sam’s firm grasp on him, the feel of his fingers digging into Dean’s skin and leaving their mark, the way Sam was thrusting his hand in so hard and so strong – but still, Dean was desperate for more. “Need more,” he whispered.

“Hmmm,” Sam said, and it sounded more like a question than an agreement.

“All of it,” Dean huffed out. “Want it all. Come on, just.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam answered. “’Course. Just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Bastard,” Dean said, punctuated by the breathy gasps that escaped each time Sam punched in.

Sam eased his way out and the squelch that accompanied the loss seemed to echo off Dean’s walls. He couldn’t really blush anymore than he already was, though, and anyway, he was over his embarrassment quota for today. Sam was about to stick his whole hand up Dean’s ass, and really, what could be more shameful than that?

The liquidy coldness dripping down his crack surprised Dean, and he shifted away, scooching up the bed. But Sam was quick, and he had his lubed up hands on Dean straight away, pulling him down and then flipping him over, two fingers to Dean’s chest to keep him down on his back. Sam crawled towards Dean and his eyes were dark and wide, a look of pure want on his face, a look of greed and of ownership. He pushed Dean’s legs apart with his own, and Dean could take a hint, so he pulled his knees up and planted his feet firm.

Sam said, “Ready?” And before Dean could even answer, his hand was at Dean’s entrance, pushing in, fast at first but then not, not when he got to the knuckles. He wiggled his thumb just a little, shimmied his fingers around. 

They’d done this before, but not too many times. It was a lot, Sam knew. Sam’s cock was monstrous, and Dean was used to taking that – which he did like a champ – but this was different. Something they saved for special occasions or for when Sam was feeling particularly possessive. Today appeared to fit both those criteria.

So while Sam was good at pushing Dean, he knew how to take this slow. He twisted and waggled deeper, just a millimeter at a time, maybe a quarter inch further every few seconds. And it was agonizing, the wait, but it was better this way. 

“Yeah, Dean. Fuck, yes. Look at you. Look at you opening up for…” Sam trailed off, and then Dean’s ass gobbled him up to the wrist, the hardest part past and only pleasure to come.

It was so much, he was so full, and it fucking hurt, but Dean relished the feeling. He was panting, hard, and he wanted to tell Sam how it felt, how good it was, but he could barely even manage to get air into his lungs. “Sam,” he bit out.

“Shhhh, baby.” Sam murmured, “Just breathe. Just breathe with me.” 

So Dean did. He focused on his breath and the burn started to fade into the background. Sam shifted inside him, nudging a finger up and digging hard into his prostrate. Dean keened and arched straight off of the bed, shoulders and feet firmly planted but back in a bowed curve.

“That’s it.” Sam flicked his wrist up and down, up and down, prodding at that spot relentlessly. “That’s it, big brother. Let it go.”

Dean couldn’t even see, vision blacked out because it was all just too much to even attempt to keep his eyes open. Too much to focus on, overstimulation of his senses, so he focused on the feel of Sam’s hand, how it was twitching around inside of him, not nearly enough room for that massive hand and yet somehow more than enough. He focused on his asshole clenching around Sam’s wrist, how it was fluttering constantly as it tried to close tight around the invasion.

Dean’s eyes shot open when he felt the liquid hot velvet of Sam up against his thigh, Sam’s other wrist working his own cock, jerking it in time with his subtle thrusts into Dean. Sam was leaking, dripping copious amounts of precome down Dean’s thigh, and he could feel it trickling down to meet the lube, and goddamn but they were making a mess of Dean’s sheets.

Sam’s eyes worked their way up from where he was fucking Dean with his hand, and when he met Dean’s gaze, that was it. He stripped his cock faster, jacking it rough and quick, and didn’t look away as his body jerked and he came, white hot come painting the insides of Dean’s legs, globs of it falling further, slopping across Dean’s raging cock and down lower where his wrist entered Dean’s body. 

That was it for Dean, too. Sam in him, deep and full, dick untouched except by Sam’s come, and he felt his orgasm storming through him from the very bottom of his toes, erupting up through his extremities and down his spine and all of it shooting from deep inside and up out of his cock. Dean writhed on Sam’s hand as his dick pumped stream after stream of come, covered his stomach and Sam’s free hand where it had come to rub across Dean’s abs, smearing their spunk together into his skin. 

Sam promptly collapsed, falling to Dean’s side without even attempting to remove his hand. 

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean said. 

“Mmhmm?”

“Wanna maybe,” Dean mumbled, and then Sam seemed to get the hint. He leaned up over Dean and then leaned in, soft press of lips against lips. 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam whispered. “It’s okay, just,” and he eased out slowly, so slowly, kissing Dean deeper and swiping his tongue all around to distract Dean from the stinging hurt. When he’d finally pulled all the way out, he rubbed his hand up and down Dean’s thighs, one and then the other, whispering, “So good, baby, so good.”

“Hey,” Dean hmphed, “That’s enough with the baby stuff now. Save it for _your_ birthday, kiddo.”

Sam huffed a laugh and laid back again, letting his head down soft on Dean’s shoulder and his arm wide across Dean’s chest. Dean could feel Sam’s lips quirk into a smile. “Hey, Dean?” Sam said, and he trailed his fingers down Dean’s stomach, skimming them softly against his still-sensitive skin. “Happy birthday, man.”

“Next year,” Dean huffed as he reached down and swatted Sam's hand away. “Next year, we’re gonna spend the whole damn day in here.”


End file.
